


set ourselves up for the night

by returnsandreturns



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Flashback, Foreplay, M/M, Making Out, One Single Scene, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A deep and abiding love for the worst shit in life,” Trevor says, stepping forward so his chest is pressed against Michael’s back, voice like last night’s motel door, voice like three more cigarettes before it’s too cold to be outside, voice like a window breaking and a car alarm cut short and the noises he made last night while Michael tried not to scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	set ourselves up for the night

**Author's Note:**

> there was never a story to go with this scene, so here you go. a tiny flashback for my favorite problematic dirtbag criminal boyfriends. 
> 
> (p.s. "we shall all be healed" by the mountain goats is such an intensely michael/trevor album. recommended soundtrack.)

“That was the worst job,” Michael says, fingers digging into the metal railing on the motel balcony as he looks out over the parking lot, “that we’ve ever fucking pulled.”

“And this is the _worst_ motel we’ve ever fucking stayed in,” Trevor agrees, “but you know what I got, Mikey?”

Michael glances over his shoulder.

“A death wish?” he asks.

“A deep and abiding love for the worst shit in life,” Trevor says, stepping forward so his chest is pressed against Michael’s back, voice like last night’s motel door, voice like three more cigarettes before it’s too cold to be outside, voice like a window breaking and a car alarm cut short and the noises he made last night while Michael tried not to scream. He’s glad that _let’s split up_ _and lay low_ now means fucking feverishly in shitty rented rooms while Brad fucks off to god knows where. The feel of Trevor’s words rolling out against the skin of his neck makes his heart race. A deep and abiding love. _Fuck._ He’ll never tell Trevor any of this.

Instead, he turns around so they’re face to face and plucks Trevor’s cigarette from his fingers, pleased that Trevor just lets him do it. He takes a drag and blows it in Trevor’s face so Trevor growls and presses him back against the railing. He’s got this crooked smile on his face when he takes the cigarette back, something that would have scared somebody who didn’t know him, and he sighs into an inhale before slotting his mouth over Michael’s. It’s 2 am in a town with a name neither of them can pronounce, and anybody could see him, but Michael takes the smoke in his lungs and breathes it out into the sky before fisting a hand in Trevor’s t-shirt and pulling him back in.

Trevor’s got this way of kissing that’s mostly biting and tongue and _fight_. It lights something up in Michael’s stomach, makes him want to push harder and harder to see when everything will break, because it hasn’t yet. Against all odds, against Trevor’s fucked up brain and Michael’s fucked up brain and a growing pile of felonies and misdemeanors, they haven’t broken each other.

“We’re gonna get—fucking queer bashed by someone if we don’t get inside,” Michael says, lips on Trevor’s cheek, fingers in his hair.

“Let ‘em try,” Trevor says.

“We exhibitionists now?” Michael asks. “You gonna let me fuck you over this railing for the truckers to watch?”

“I’ll fuck _ing_ queer bash you, is what I’ll do,” Trevor mutters, nosing against Michael’s cheek, but he’s already backing up and pulling Michael with him. His free hand digs into the back pocket of Michael’s jeans for the key, letting go of him for long enough to open the door and shove him inside. Michael stumbles, catches himself on the dresser. He watches Trevor watch him, not moving his eyes from Michael’s as he unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them.

“You’re the worst person I know, Mikey,” he says, with a grin, hidden for a moment as he shrugs out of his coat and tugs off his t-shirt.

“You, too, man,” Michael says.

It’s probably telling, about them, about this back and forth mostly exclusive out of necessity fuckbuddies thing they’re doing, that it feels like a confession.

**Author's Note:**

> detectivekatebishop on tumblr ~*~


End file.
